


After The Reception

by A_Study_In_Johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Divergence - The Sign of Three, Choking, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, John sees Sherlock's scars, Love Confessions, M/M, Mary Ships It, Post-Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Rough fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 23:22:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13600623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Study_In_Johnlock/pseuds/A_Study_In_Johnlock
Summary: John saw him go.Saw his tall, dark form slink behind the crowds of people, letting himself out into the chill of the night. That was when he felt his throat tighten. Felt his heart break. For the first time, in a long time, John’s hands shook.





	After The Reception

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Applespies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applespies/gifts), [bia_mpinto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bia_mpinto/gifts), [pancakeNaomi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancakeNaomi/gifts).



> This is my thanks to Applespies who helped me create the sex scene in my head which eventually formed into a plot! Thank you so much!

  
  


John saw him go. 

Saw his tall, dark form slink behind the crowds of people, letting himself out into the chill of the night. That was when he felt his throat tighten. Felt his heart break. For the first time, in a  _ long  _ time, John’s hands shook. 

Mary gazed at him in confusion, the sudden tremor on her waist wasn’t missed on her. John’s eyes were no longer in focus, so she followed his gaze and realised almost immediately who was missing from the room. Sherlock couldn’t not be noticed in a room and while it was not immediately realised when the man was gone, John always seemed to know. His gaze would follow the area where he’d left and his midnight blue eyes would drop, giving him an expression of disappointment, or hurt. He’d worn the same look during the two years of Sherlock’s hiatus. Mary realised that since Sherlock had been back, the look had long disappeared; she’d almost forgotten about its existence. 

Until she saw it here tonight. 

Mary understood, then.

“John,” she said, very softly, bringing the man back to the present. His eyes immediately snapped back to hers and the respectable army doctor was back into place. As if that were all he could be with her. He was so much  _ more  _ when he was with Sherlock, so much more alive. “Go get him.”

John didn’t understand at first. Frowning, he said, “What? I-”

“John. Go get Sherlock. I know he left. Go after him.” John didn’t move and continued to stare at her. “ _ Go  _ after him and tell him how you feel.”

John blanched, then, his face going entirely pale. Mary could almost hear his heart stop in shock. But, he didn’t say anything. He waited. Either for this to be a joke, or for Mary to explain.

“John, tell him. I see the way you look at him, the way you act around him. You’re in love with him and you always will be,” Mary said, but she said it without an ounce of hatred in her heart. She  _ wanted  _ John to be happy. 

“Mary, I love-”

“I know,” Mary smiled warmly, squeezing his shoulder. “But you’re  _ in  _ love with him, which is an entirely different thing. John. Please. For me.” She wouldn’t admit it, but she’d heard John utter those words when he’d asked Sherlock to pick a case to get him away from wedding planning. She knew: it would always be Sherlock.

John gazed at her for a long moment and his shoulders fell, almost as if he couldn’t believe the decision he’d just made in his head and hung his head.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “I’ll let everyone know they should clear out.”

“Mary, I can’t do this. The baby-”

“We’ll figure it out, John. I promise. We’ll have split days or something during the week, or you’ll have her for holidays and weekends and I’ll take her to school during the weekdays, or something like that. We’ll figure it out,” Mary was hurrying her speech now, knowing that Sherlock could have caught a cab by now. “Now,  _ go. _ ” Mary pushed John along and as she watched him leave, she immediately sought out Mrs. Hudson.

 

***

 

John rushed outside, leaving his coat behind, and sought out his best friend. He walked along the pavement trail until he saw a tall, dark figure standing along the curb. 

“Sherlock?” John called out and immediately, the raven head of curls turned upon being called, then a puff of smoke that he quickly tried to wave away.

“John! Why aren’t you inside?” Sherlock asked, quickly stepping his cigarette out.

“Why are you leaving?” John inquired, ignoring the man’s question.

Sherlock stopped at that, then blinked. Then, his posture straightened and John new the next words out of his mouth would be a lie because he  _ knew  _ Sherlock. “Wasn’t going to leave. I was just out here...to have a smoke, I was going to come right back.”

John frowned at the realisation that Sherlock  _ had  _ been smoking. “Why are you smoking?” Sherlock didn’t smoke unless…

_ Are you sure tonight’s a danger night? _

_ No. But, then again, I never am. _

John felt his eyebrows knit together as he gazed at his best friend. “Sherlock.” He took a deep breath.    
“I am going to do something in the next three seconds and I’m going to need you to tell me how you feel about it.”

Sherlock’s eyes drifted from John’s left and right eye as he frowned in confusion. “Okay.”

In a slow surge, John lifted himself the couple inches he needed and planted a kiss onto Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock released a soft grunt in shock as he pulled John towards him, holding the man in a tight embrace. Then, the realisation washed over Sherlock like the sensation of ice water and he forced himself away from John, away from their kiss, their lips making a soft  _ smack  _ as Sherlock pulled back. “John-- _ Mary _ . She’s still inside,  _ pregnant- _ -”

John quickly cut him off. “Mary’s the one who sent me.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows raised at that.

“She told me I needed to be honest about my feelings for you, that we’d figure out the rest later.”

Sherlock stared at John for a long time, frozen in his spot, their eyes never leaving each other’s. John could tell there was too much information for the other man to process, so he gave him time, just as he did when he’d asked Sherlock to be his best man.

Then, there was a moment. Sherlock broke his gaze first, his verdigris eyes drifting down to John’s lips, then back up to his eyes, and-abruptly-they were kissing again. Sherlock came down to John’s height,  cupping the man’s face in his hands as if John were his entire world.

A jolt ran through John as Sherlock’s hands pulled him closer by his hips, letting the warmth from his body flood through John as every inch of them pressed together within the cover of his coat. John let Sherlock seek him out, felt those long violinist fingers trailing down his sides, along his stomach, up his chest almost as if Sherlock was trying to open him and couldn’t find a way in. 

“John.” Sherlock said it with a deep, shuddering tremble as he pulled back, giving their lips at least an inch as he gazed at John. “Please. I want to go home.” it was soft, quiet...relinquishing.

It took John a moment, but he realised only a moment later that Sherlock was relinquishing to him. He found that his arms were already wrapped protectively around Sherlock, and started, together, away from the reception.

 

***

 

When they got him, John made sure to lock both doors, closing them within the walls of the flat. John had been away for much too long even though he’d just been over for his dance lessons with Sherlock; it felt like too long. The two men stood there for a long time, unsure of what to do. It was Sherlock who moved first within the dim lighting of the flat, removing his gloves, scarf, and coat.

“I’ll just...start a fire,” Sherlock said quietly and quickly began to busy himself with the task. John followed Sherlock’s steps, removing his own coat. When he turned back, that’s when he noticed his chair had been moved. Sherlock was at the fireplace, his back to John.

“Sherlock.” John said.

“Hmm?” Sherlock answered. He didn’t turn.

“Where’s my chair?”

Silence.

Then, “Kitchen.”

John frowned and walked to the doorway of the kitchen. Sure enough, it was there. 

“Why?”

“Experiment. It was in the way.”

John knew Sherlock was lying and his heart sank as he realised Sherlock might have almost gotten rid of it.

But he played along, knowing Sherlock would rather prefer not to say the words aloud.

“Do you mind if I put it back?” he inquired.

Silence.

And, finally, “No.”

John pulled the chair back into the sitting room and placed it back into its normal place next to the side table. It made John uncomfortable, not seeing his chair across from Sherlock’s. It felt... _ wrong _ . So, very, very wrong.

While Sherlock busied himself, John scoured the kitchen for the eight year old bottle of brandy, a wedding gift of sorts from Mycroft (though he’d never call it that) that he’d left behind a week before John’s wedding with a, ‘ _ I suppose congratulations are in order, Dr. Watson.’ _

John pulled the bottle down and found two glasses before trailing back into the living room where Sherlock had gotten the fire to a small start. 

Sherlock heard the tell-tale sound of the liquid sloshing around in the bottle and the clinking of the glasses as John set them down together. It was the first time since they’d gotten into the house that Sherlock met his eye.

‘Trying to repeat your stag night, yes?” Sherlock inquired.

John chuckled, toeing off his shoes. “Hopefully not ending with us in a jail cell.”

Sherlock eyed him challengingly. “And where  _ do  _ you plan on us ending up?”

John smirked and Sherlock felt a thrill rush through him because that smirk was  _ dangerous  _ and even Sherlock knew it. “Hopefully in your bed with you on all fours, arse in the air, while I evoke sounds you couldn’t even  _ begin  _ to know you make.”

Sherlock’s eyes visibly darkened. “Quite cocky, aren’t we, Dr. Watson?”

John smirked again as he leaned back in his chair, opening the bottle of brandy. 

Sherlock rose to his feet as the fire began to catch over the logs. He pulled his chair closer to the fire and, therefore, closer to John’s, just like his stag night.

Before he sat, though, Sherlock snatched up his glass.

“Planning on getting me drunk?” Sherlock inquired as he got comfortable, kicking of his own shoes and socks. John smiled at the action. He’d always loved Sherlock’s feet, but he was sure the man already knew. 

“I’m planning on relaxing us both.” John said.

With a nod, Sherlock held his glass out. John poured his glass halfway and did the same to his own. They drank in heated, yet nervous, silence. Sherlock made a face at the brandy and rolled his eyes.

“Of course Mycroft had to go and get the most mediocre brandy ever.”

John laughed. “Maybe he knew something about my marriage that I didn’t.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as his gaze snapped over to John from his focus on the glass. “I…” for once, the man was speechless. He took another sip.

It made John smile and he followed suit.

 

***

 

Thirty minutes later, they were more than halfway through the bottle. Sherlock was now sitting on the floor, in front of his chair, his tie pulled undone and his top two buttons undone. John was still in his chair, his left arm propped up on the arm of his chair, his knuckles pressed against his lips as gazed at Sherlock; the fire created breathtaking shadows across his cheekbones and the hollows of his cheeks. God, he loved this man to pieces.

Sherlock smiled shyly up at him. “I think your mission proved to be successful,”

“You think so?” John inquired, sitting up in attention.

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded, then, his expression fell into something more solemn. “I was...nervous before.  _ Scared. _ ”

John frowned, surprised at Sherlock’s admission. “Why?” he inquired in a soft voice.

“That you would leave again. When you kissed me, I lost it for a second, lost who I’d made myself out to be. The sociopath, the freak, the  _ transport _ was gone, and I was just...yours,” the confession made John’s heart tighten and it didn’t help as Sherlock looked up, right into John’s eyes, his eyes overwrought with unspoken emotions. “I wanted to get rid of your chair. Couldn’t bear to look at it.”

John nodded. “I know,” he sighed, remembering his frame of mind after Sherlock’s fall. Not only had he wanted to get rid of his chair, he’d wanted to rid the flat of everything that reminded him of Sherlock...until he decided to remove himself altogether. “Trust me, Sherlock, I know. But, I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Sherlock stared at him for a long time, probably reading whatever he saw there. He would never know how the man’s brain worked, but he would try his damned best to do so because Sherlock deserved the world.

“C’mere,” John opened his arms for Sherlock and he watched the man take a shaky breath before tossing the last of his brandy back and shakily rose onto his long legs and crossed the short distance between him and John before he climbed into John’s lap, straddling his hips. They groaned as their clothed cocks brushed together.

John had been hard for the last twenty minutes. He had been done for when Sherlock had undone the buttons of his shirt. He wasn’t at all surprised to find Sherlock rock hard against him because he had seen the tenting forming once he’d moved to the floor; it’d been a beautiful thing to see, too, watching Sherlock’s body respond without a single touch, solely from anticipation.

Sherlock looked down at him, his eyes open and vulnerable, a look that John was not at all used to. It overwhelmed him and all he wanted to do was reassure Sherlock in everything he doubted. 

John grasped the lapels of Sherlock’s jacket and pushed it from his shoulders, letting his hands run over his clothed skin, and down his arms until Sherlock assisted in its removal. Sherlock began to slowly unbutton his shirt.

John grasped Sherlock’s wrist, halting the man who met his eyes in question. “What do you want tonight, Sherlock? I don’t want to push this any further if you-”

“I want you to bend me over on all fours, arse in the air, while you evoke sounds I couldn’t even begin to know I make,” Sherlock deadpanned with his baritone voice, causing John to shift as his cock hardened impossibly further. Sherlock obviously noticed this and continued. “I want you. With your cock buried so far within me that you touch places I had no idea existed. Because I have waited seven years, John Watson,” he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around John’s neck as pressing his lips to John’s in a slow, lazy kiss-just a drag of their lips together. It was so simple, yet it was more than enough to make John breathless and his cock leak, especially as Sherlock pulled back to press his forehead to John’s as Sherlock ghosted his lips over his. “Seven years to belong to you,”

Still breathless and even more turned on than before, John said, “Then, let’s go to bed, shall we?” He swiftly lifted them and Sherlock gave a sharp gasp in response. He walked them down the hall, into Sherlock’s room, and deposited the man onto his bed, smirking at the blinding smile that had made its way onto Sherlock’s soft, beautiful features.

“What are you thinking about?” John inquired, voice low, watching Sherlock visibly shiver as his expression changed to something much more lust filled and dream-like. It was a dangerous look--much like the looks Sherlock fixed on him during cases when they met gazes. It sent a shiver down John’s spine and he felt his cock harden.

“You. Fucking me.” He made sure to drop his voice an octave, knowing what it would do it John.

And sure, John visibly showed signs of being turned on by Sherlock’s voice, but where Sherlock’s voice was like dipping into hot milk and honey, or like dripping hot wax onto sensitised skin, John’s was much like the burn of whiskey, or the low tingling sting of 5 o’clock stubble against trembling thighs.

John didn’t hesitate any further. “You want me to fuck you?” and he didn’t keep the growl from his voice and he watched Sherlock visibly gulp. He held back a smirk and watched that raven head of curls nod. “Clothes. Off.”

Sherlock’s hands fumbled, but soon, he’d relieved himself of his jacket and half of his shirt, yet John had only gotten nearly as far before he was desperately pulling Sherlock back in again.

Their lips met and Sherlock alive--felt a jolt run through his body like no other, immediately grasping John as he was pulled into the older man’s lap. So many words stayed on the tip of his tongue-- _ I love you. I want you. I need you. I crave you more than I ever craved the cocaine. You are my heart and even my head-- _ and he let those words drag over John’s bottom lip, begging for entrance--which John granted--and when Sherlock tasted John’s tongue, he could taste his unspoken words, too.

The kiss deepened, they began to involuntarily roll their hips together, their clothed cocks brushing over each other--throbbing, hot, hard--Sherlock moaned into their kiss, letting John swallow that up too. When Sherlock’s hands came up to unbutton the rest of his shirt, he stopped short. He’d forgotten about his scars. Memories flashed in his head of every lash breaking his skin and felt himself wobble from the sudden fear that John would see them. Of course, John noticed this and frowned in concern.

“Where’d you go?” John inquired gently, raising his hands to cup Sherlock’s jaw. 

“John...while I was away I...I…” but he couldn’t push the words out; instead, Sherlock turned so that his back was facing John and began to slowly undo his shirt, measuring John’s reaction. John, in reaction, stopped breathing as he took in the sight of Sherlock’s back.

“Y-you...I…” John trailed off and when Sherlock found the courage to look at him, he found that John looked just as sick as he felt. “I... _ tackled  _ you when you got back.”

“John--”

“How am I any better?” he whispered brokenly as his eyes began to brim with tears.

“You had every right to be angry that night. You didn’t know.”

“And you were never going to tell me.” It wasn’t a question, but the words were filled with pain.

And Sherlock didn’t answer.

“Can I make one selfish request, John?”

John sniffled, holding back the tears threatening to spill. “Of course.”

“Please,  _ please  _ don’t stop. They’re just scars. Much like yours, they’re a sign of war, of bravery. Dismantling Moriarty’s network was the best thing I ever did and I would do it again if it meant I got to save you.”

John gazed at him in wonder and pulled Sherlock forward to help him out of the rest of his shirt, kissing any exposed skin as he did. His tongue traced Sherlock’s left nipple, eliciting a gasp from him which broke off into a shuddering groan. John gazed at him, almost in reverence and began to thumb Sherlock’s right nipple, letting the pad of his thumb brush over it. Sherlock let out a short burst of air and shakily breathed back in, loving being under John’s ministrations as the army doctor began kissing up his sternum, nipping and licking at whatever he could--the warmth of John’s tongue dragging over his Adam’s apple just before nipping it with his teeth made Sherlock moan. John kept going, marking Sherlock, sucking a spot below his ear that made Sherlock’s hips buck. 

“Look at you--you’re so beautiful,” John rasped and of course Sherlock reacted, his hips pressing against John’s-- _ needing  _ more, needing John. 

John’s hands began to undo Sherlock’s trousers, then abruptly stopped. Sherlock almost froze until he heard what John had to say. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, John, why in the world you ask? It’s  _ you. _ ”

John steadily met Sherlock’s gaze and nodded once. “I just...I don’t want you to think this is a one time thing for me. I want you, Sherlock--for the rest of our lives, if you’ll have me.”

“Marry me.” Sherlock murmured in response into the quiet air between them.

John froze.

John stared.

Ten seconds passed.

Twenty seconds passed.

Was this how John felt when he’d asked Sherlock to be his best man? Because he could agree, it was getting a little scary.

“John--”

“Yes.”

Sherlock stopped. Then, he blinked. The realisation hit him, then he couldn’t keep the grin from being plastered onto his face. John grinned too, and then they were kissing. It started off sweet--celebratory--and then it grew heated, their hands rushing for their trousers. Sherlock had to do some  manoeuvring  and he had to wait for John to lift his hips to take his own jeans and pants off, but Sherlock didn’t mind in the least, watching John’s thigh muscles flex. He didn’t have the tan he had when Sherlock first met him, but he was still much tanner than Sherlock’s ivory skin which Sherlock realised John was now exploring again; he trembled against John’s tongue as it traced his nipple against, rounding his areola before sucking it into his mouth, giving his nipple a gentle, pulling bite that elicited a low hiss from Sherlock and precum to leak from his cock.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” John breathed shakily, looking down between them. Sherlock followed his sight, pressing his forehead to John’s, and, he couldn’t deny, it was a damn good sight. Their cocks were pressed against together--John was much thicker than him and shorter by an inch or two, which wasn’t saying much because Sherlock’s cock had length to it--precum from Sherlock’s cock dripping down between them. John didn’t hesitate. He lined their cocks up, stroked them, using Sherlock’s precum as lube. 

It was a quiet moment as John’s fist worked them over, Sherlock’s cheeks heating, the pit of his stomach pooled with warmth. John breathed harshly and Sherlock gasped, their breaths quickening, the sound of John’s swift strokes along their cocks echoed softly off of the walls. It was silent. Reverent, as both men kept their gazes lock, both of them ratcheting higher and higher.

Sherlock began to rock his hips up into John’s hand and keened, the friction almost driving him over the edge. John followed suit, lifting them so that their cocks was fuck into the ring John had made with his hand. Sherlock had leaked a lot of precum and that only seemed to turned John on further.

“John,  _ please-- _ I don’t want to come like this,” Sherlock gasped desperately. “Please.”

John’s hand slowed to a stop. “On your knees, then,” 

Sherlock nearly scrambled to his position. “Lube’s under that pillow.”

A shiver ran down John’s spine at the thought of Sherlock opening himself up with his long, lubed up violinist fingers as he pulled the tube from under the pillow. He set it off to the side for later and, instead, positioned himself between Sherlock’s legs and began running his hands down Sherlock’s spine, relaxing him. 

His right hand was cupped under Sherlock’s thigh, knowing that hand would remind the man to keep his position as he began to sink a spit-soaked index finger into Sherlock’s wet, semi-loose hole. He easily got past his first knuckle and sank his finger into Sherlock, biting his lip as Sherlock whimpered at the intrusion, pushing back for more. John teased around his prostate and he watched the way the man’s body responded to his touch--studied it, the tilt of his hips, the arch of his back, the way his toes curled, what made his cock leak--and reached for the lube to finish opening Sherlock up. His two fingers didn’t meet resistance until the first knuckles, but a small kiss to Sherlock’s side and a whispered reminder to, “Relax,” made his body go lax and John groaned as he sank two fingers into Sherlock’s arse. “ _ Perfect _ ,” he breathed against Sherlock’s skin as Sherlock released a long, low groan into the pillows below. 

When John got up to three fingers and was able to slip them into Sherlock with ease, he pulled back. John turned their positions, sitting up against the pillows as he pulled Sherlock down into his lap, the detective’s back facing him. With slow precision, Sherlock sank down onto John’s length and whimpered as John filled him, their skin pressing flushed together.

John’s hands ran over the grooves of Sherlock’s back, swallowing past the stone in his throat, his eyes brimming with tears. “You’ve given a lot for me,” John whispered, but it was low, rough and nearly overshadowed by him holding back his tears. He felt Sherlock’s hand reach back to touch right his arm, bringing his hand around to his stomach. Then, he did the same with John’s left. 

“As have you,” Sherlock said in an imploring voice, turning his head to look back at John. “And there’s no use in...what’s the saying--beating a dead horse? We’re far too old, John.”

John let his head fall against Sherlock’s back and he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s skin in one, long reverent kiss and took a deep breath. Upon exhalation, his nerves had steeled and he focused solely on  _ Sherlock. _

Sherlock could feel John’s resolve as his hands drifted up his skin, over his ribs and gently pulled Sherlock back so that his back was pressed flush against John’s chest. The army doctor’s arms unwound from around Sherlock and his hands rose up to brush Sherlock’s nipples, eliciting a sharp gasp.

“I need you to spread your legs, love,” John murmured, his voice still rough which made Sherlock melt into his touch, sure he’d do anything John told him to with that voice. 

The army doctor continued to play with Sherlock’s nipples, teasingly brushing the pads of his thumbs around the small nubs, watching in a sort of hedonistic fascination as Sherlock’s cock leaked precum. He continued, wondering if he could make Sherlock come from the stimulation alone, but perhaps it was an idea for another time. 

John let his hips move, immediately seeking out Sherlock’s prostate which was much easier to access in this position. He slowly let his cockhead press against it as he pulled Sherlock back onto the full length of him. Sherlock groaned, his body nearly doubling forward, but John pulled him back and began to slam his hips harder.

“ _ Oh,  _ fuck--John,” Sherlock cried as he couldn’t escape the feeling of John hitting his prostate upon each thrust. 

“Think you can come from just me fucking you?” John nearly growled, listening to Sherlock’s sharp breath intake at his words and his voice. Sherlock vehemently shook his head, making his curls bounce. John took his time, letting his hands explore Sherlock’s body as he figured out how he’d make the man come, yet his hips didn’t falter. Sherlock knew John was biding time and it sent a shiver down his spine, the anticipation of what the man was going to do next was going to drive him mad. 

John let his left arm wrap around Sherlock’s waist as his right hand twisted in his hair, pulling Sherlock’s head back to rest on his shoulder, leaving Sherlock’s body splayed out beautifully over his. Sherlock turned to John pressing his lips to John’s in a desperate, breathless kiss. John let his lips trail down, his free hand lifting Sherlock’s chin to press his lips under his jaw and down the side of his neck, his hand following until he was cupping the other side of Sherlock’s neck, holding him as he sucked a mark into Sherlock’s pale skin.

It wasn’t until John realised that while Sherlock was enjoying his ministrations, the detective was leaning more towards the hand around his neck. A low rush of arousal shot down John’s spine at the realisation. He properly adjusted his hand around Sherlock’s neck, but he didn’t tighten it. He held it there, much like a suggestion, or a question and he felt Sherlock’s pulse quicken, his hips pushing back against John’s with more determination, the detective’s hand wrapping around his own,  _ making  _ John squeeze his hand.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” John groaned under his breath as he thrust up harder, something almost terrifying rushing through him as Sherlock released a strangled moan, his hips stuttering. Underneath, somewhere, was the concerned doctor telling John not to press too hard which, of course, he listened to. Yet, it was Sherlock who was controlling his hand and John didn’t want to be the one to deny him, so he slammed into Sherlock harder, groaning at the sound of their skin making contact.

“Look at you,” John murmured against Sherlock’s curls, near the curve of his ear. “You’re fucking breathtaking--God, Sherlock,” John knew he was close, he could feel every tell-tale sign from the tightening in the pit of his stomach to the nearly violent twitching of his cock as Sherlock ground his hips shamelessly down onto John’s.

“John,  _ please _ ... _ harder _ ,” Sherlock gasped, his hand insistently pressing at John’s hand. 

Somehow, the little doctor’s voice in the back of John’s head flew out the window because he was incapable of denying this man and squeezed harder, wrapping around his windpipe in just the right way that Sherlock’s entire body stilled, a groan caught in his throat as his cock began to release spurt after spurt of come, before his entire body shook with the force of his orgasm. John felt his thighs tremble under Sherlock’s as he came right behind him, his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head as he filled Sherlock with his come, their hips still moving in tangent as John’s hand began to slowly release Sherlock’s neck.

Upon his inhalation, Sherlock released a broken gasp as his cock gave a tired twitch and another short spurt of come that landed in the pool on his stomach. John slowed his hips down until they eventually stopped searching for that feeling due to oversensitivity. 

John kept his arm around Sherlock’s waist and let his other hand thread into Sherlock’s curls, turning his head to kiss him. Sherlock cupped John’s face, letting out a shaky breath as he broke into a grin. Then, somehow, they were giggling.

“You... _ utter _ madman,” John breathed into a laugh, then he pressed his forehead to Sherlock’s with a more serious question waiting on his tongue. “Was that okay?”

“John, it was perfect. More than.  _ You  _ are perfect, John Watson.”

John smiled at him. “Okay, good.”

Sherlock gave him a lazy smile and relaxed into the crook of his neck. “Really, John, we need to do more of that. I rather like your hand wrapped around my throat when you’re fucking me.”

Despite himself, John’s cock gave a slow throb in reaction to his words and he felt Sherlock smirk against his skin.

It was John who eventually got up for a flannel soaked and wrung out with hot water which he used to clean himself first, then went back into their room to clean Sherlock who was wearing a lazy smile when he came back.

“What?”

“Don’t you think either of us should feel some semblance of...guilt?” John could tell that the question came from an honest and curious place and he wondered the same thing. Sherlock was right; he’d just gotten married and had left his pregnant wife all in the same night.

“To be honest, I don’t believe half the people at the wedding even expected it to last that long--hell, Mrs. Hudson was surprised I was marrying a woman.” he climbed back into bed with Sherlock, pulling the duvet over them. “I’ll never feel guilty for loving you, even if it took me until tonight to realise that I never wanted to see you leave me again.”

Sherlock let his hand come up to trace John’s features, memorising every line and curve. Then, he huddled closer to John who easily wrapped the detective in his arms. 

“I never want to have to leave you again,” Sherlock murmured.

“You won’t have to, if you can manage to include me.” John’s hand began to sift through Sherlock’s curls, gently pushing his hair behind his ear, letting his short nails lightly scratch his scalp which he heavily seemed to enjoy, rising into his touch.

“Even if you’re life’s in immediate danger?”

John stopped at that, and then he thought about it. “Yes. Because I’d rather fight next to you until my dying breath than be kept on the outskirts to watch you die.”

At that, Sherlock looked up at John, his eyes swimming with several different emotions. “I love you.” 

John felt his gaze soften as he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s. Then, he kissed the tip of his nose and his forehead before pulling him back in. “I love you, too.” he murmured, burying his face in those raven curls as they laid in silence.

  
  
  
  


 

“John. Go get Sherlock. I know he left. Go after him.” John didn’t move and continued to stare at her. “ _Go_ after him and tell him how you feel.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed. If you liked it, let me know your favourite line or your favourite part; I'd be more than happy to hear about it. If there are any errors, please let me know and I'll fix them as soon as I can. 
> 
> Have a lovely day and thank you so much for reading!


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